


That's What Matters

by cathcer1984



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Endgame Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, One-Sided Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Past Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcer1984/pseuds/cathcer1984
Summary: No one in Beacon Hills has heard from Stiles in the five years since Derek became an Alpha and broke Stiles' heart by dumping him. When an Irish Pack come through and mention him Derek is on the first plane to Dublin. Peter is sent to follow, only his travels go awry and he ends up finding love on his way to reunite Stiles and Derek.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 704





	That's What Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Based very loosely on [Leap year](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leap_Year_\(2010_film\)), [I Know Where I'm Going](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Know_Where_I%27m_Going!_\(film\)) and [It Happened One Night](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It_Happened_One_Night). 
> 
> I don't even know any more. I'm supposed to be writing a request but these new ideas keep getting in the way.

Peter hates planes. He loathes and detests them, they're filled with too many people, too much noise, awful smells and stale air. It makes his wolf uncomfortable and makes him twitchy. Luckily he's in first class because, unlike his nephew, Peter will spend money on luxury items for himself.

It's all Derek's fault anyway.

Five years ago, Derek became an alpha again and instead of courting the local emissary Derek had pushed him away, embarrassed him, humiliated him. An Alpha couldn't have a human partner, Spark or not. And Stiles had left Beacon Hills, and America behind. No one had any contact with him, except the Sheriff who remained tight lipped about his son's whereabouts.

Until yesterday when a passing Pack of Faoladh came through Beacon Hills and mentioned an American Spark with pale skin, whiskey eyes and no proper name.

Derek had gotten only the basics of information before he was on the first plane to Dublin, leaving Boyd in charge of welcoming the Faoladh. Boyd, as second in command of the Pack, ordered Peter to follow along and stop their Alpha from making a fool out of himself in front of his ex.

The plane rocks with a bump and a lot of shaking. The rain that had been pelting the plane is broken only because of the sound of lightning. Peter is pissed off as the Captain announces they need to make an emergency landing in Wales.

Although Peter is glad to be off the plane able to stretch his legs, the airport is chaos. Eventually Peter finds his way to the desk only to be informed that all flights to Dublin are cancelled for the foreseeable future.

A considerable about of pleading, charm and money later Peter is standing on a beach in Ireland. Soaking wet, cold and very annoyed. His feet squelch as he makes his way up to the shabby pub-slash-inn that he's going to stay in tonight no matter what.

The door blows open and Peter hides a snarl as the scent of salt water, sweat, and stale air overwhelms him. There are two old men by the bar, a third is slumped over a table holding tightly to his beer.

There's no one behind the bar.

"Who do I see about getting a room?" Peter demands.

One of the old men turns to the other, eyebrows raised. "He'll be lucky to have a room tonight with that attitude." The Irish lilt to his voice disorients Peter for a moment.

"I am cold, I am wet and I have to get to Dublin. If my attitude is a problem I don't care." Peter marches up to the bar, stopping next to the old men.

The one who spoke narrows his eyes, "we don't take too kindly to your type here, sonny."

Affronted, Peter squares his shoulders. "My type? What precisely do you mean by that? Gay? American?"

"Wolf." Come a new but not unfamiliar voice from behind Peter.

He turns and smirks, "this has just made my life easier. Hello Stiles."

"You're not staying here." Stiles looks good, he's filled out a little, healthy and he seems a lot happier than he had been when he left Beacon Hills after Derek broke his heart even if he is frowning.

Peter looks down at the puddle of water around his feet. "Oh I am. And then, in the morning you can take me to Dublin."

Stiles scoffs derisively. "I am not going to Dublin."

"You will." Peter steps in close, they're of a height and Peter is self-aware enough to know that he's only getting in Stiles' personal space to scent him. "Because Derek is there looking for you."

"I have had enough of Derek Hale to last me a lifetime," Stiles snarls.

"As have I, darling, however he is in Ireland to see you and he won't stop until he does. Do you honestly want him coming here?" Peter waves a hand around then tucks it into his pocket. "Your choice, sweetheart."

"Fuck you." Stiles bares his teeth.

With a smirk, Peter asks "if that's the only way to get a bed... absolutely, sweetheart, I'd fuck you in a heartbeat."

"You're despicable." Stiles sneers, lips curling upwards in disgust. "Take room seven."

"Thank you, darling." Peter picks up his bag, a very wet Louis Vuitton carry on case. He saunters away, brushing Stiles' shoulder as he passes by. Peter ignores the mutterings of the old men checking in on Stiles as he heads on up the stairs.

A hot shower later and Peter is in his small little room with his towel around his waist when the door bursts open. Stiles stops suddenly eyes going down Peter's chest and quickly back up to his face. Stiles' cheeks are dark red and he can't quite meet Peter's eyes.

"Can I help you?" Peter raises his eyebrows.

"I'll take you to Dublin." Stiles blurts out, then he bites his lip and adds, "for a price."

"How much will it be, sweetheart?"

Stiles licks his lips. "Five hundred euro."

Peter nods. He agrees easily, "of course, I'll pay any other expenses as well."

With a sigh of relief that has Stiles' shoulders slumping a little he gives Peter a small, but genuine, smile. "Okay."

"This place means a lot to you, doesn't it?" Peter shifts so he can lean against the wall as he chats with Stiles.

"I love it. It's the first place, home, I've had that's only ever been mine." Stiles looks around fondly. "It's run down though, needs a lot of TLC."

Peter finds himself unable to keep his eyes off Stiles, "but it's all yours, darling."

Stiles stiffens and his face becomes impassive as he takes a step away, his scent has soured as well. "We leave at seven." Stiles says shortly before he's striding down the hall leaving Peter staring after him wondering what changed.

*

Early the next morning Peter is standing outside the pub waiting for Stiles when a small red car pulls up outside and Stiles unfolds himself from the driver's seat.

"Please tell me this is taking us around the corner to the actual car."

"Get in, Peter." Stiles huffs, breath puffing out in front of him in the cold morning air.

"It's a death trap!"

Stiles rolls his eyes, "I'm sure you'll survive Mister Werewolf."

When Peter still hesitates, Stiles stomps around throws the luggage into the back and pushes his face into Peter's. "Get the fuck in the car if you want me to take you to Dublin."

"Fine. But I don't like it." Peter slides into the seat.

Stiles gets in and starts the car, it splutters and groans and Peter clutches the seat. "This is worse than that jeep of your mother's."

"Shut up," Stiles grumbles as he places a hand on the dashboard. Peter gets overwhelmed with the smell of pine as Stiles uses his Spark to make the engine go. "Rosie s a perfectly good car."

"Right." Peter knows there is sarcasm dripping form his tone. "I'm sure Derek won't mind if I arrive in two or three pieces."

The car starts down the road with a few jolts before moving smoothly. "As if Derek will care if you're alive or not."

"Rude." Peter says, just because he can. "However; you're probably correct. He would mind if you weren't in one perfect piece."

"Derek doesn't give a fuck about me." Stiles says bitterly.

Peter swallows. "He does. He's moped and pined for your ever since you left."

Stiles grits his teeth, Peter can hear them grinding against each other. Peter thinks Stiles is angry. "I can't say I understand it, sweetheart. If I had you, I wouldn't let you go. Derek is peculiar."

"He's an idiot, that's for sure."

Peter stays silent for a moment. "You really loved him."

"No." Stiles is quick to answer, glancing at Peter before focusing on the road. "I didn't. I fell into bed with him because the person I did love wouldn't look twice at me."

"Then why stay away?"

Stiles thinks on it. "I was ashamed at how easily I'd traded Derek for someone else. I became used goods, and-"

"Sweetheart, we're all used goods in one way or another." Peter says quietly.

"I guess," he says slowly, not fully agreeing with Peter but not disagreeing either. "I couldn't face anyone though, not then."

"And now?"

"Now I have no choice," Stiles shoots him a wry grin.

Peter rolls his eyes. "Derek loves you."

"I know." Stiles shrugs a little, "I owe it to him at least."

"You don't owe anyone anything, Stiles, whether you've had sex with them or not."

"How he ended things was cruel but I think he knew I used him as a placeholder for someone else. Him becoming an alpha was a convenient excuse for him to break up with me." Stiles sighs, it's filled with sadness like his scent. "I wasn't fair to Derek. So I do owe it to him to see him, hear what he has to say."

"He'll ask you to go back with him, give him another chance."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

They lapse into silence and Peter watches the beautiful Irish countryside roll by. he's not sure what brought on Stiles' openness and he's not going to question it. Peter has always liked Stiles, he's intelligent, ruthless and loyal. Often Peter has wondered what it would be like to be a person Stiles is loyal to, what it would be like to be under his hands and his scrutiny and his Spark.

For once Peter is glad Stiles isn't a wolf so he can't smell the beginnings of arousal. Shifting in his seat Peter curses himself. He's not here for himself, for the sake of his pack Peter can't afford to be selfish.

The car stutters to a stop as it tries to go up a hill. Stiles mutters to it, hand on the dashboard and they just make it to the crest of the hill. "Rosie needs to rest for a bit. She doesn't really go long distances and I think the hill has overheated her engine."

"Fucking hell." Peter mutters as he climbs out. He can't deny that it doesn't feel good to stretch his legs.

Stiles shoots him a filthy glare as he tosses an apple at Peter's head. Peter catches it easily and takes a bite as he leans against the bumper of the car. With a groan Rosie starts to roll back down the hill, Stiles shouts and runs after her.

"Rosie!" Stiles puts his hand out but trips.

Rolling his eyes Peter jogs behind him, hands on Stiles' elbow to steady him. He puts his hands up to show no harm when Stiles wrenches out of his grasp and glares at him. "This your fault Peter!" Stiles shouts and his mouth is open when they're distracted by a splash.

Peter turns to see Rosie sinking into a pond. Stiles screeches next to him, but Peter can't do anything accept laugh. He throws his head back and laughs, shoulders shaking and cheeks aching. When he's controlled himself a little, Peter is still grinning when he tips his head back down and meets Stiles' eyes.

Stiles is looking at him with wonder and disbelief, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. Peter is captivated. He clears his throat and looks away. "We should get our bags out."

"Right." Stiles' scent sours again and Peter absolutely knows he was the cause. "I'll call a tow truck to take it back to the village. You're paying."

"Put it on my tab, sweetheart." Peter says smoothly as he wades in the pond to get his case and Stiles' duffel out the car. He carries them both as he starts to walk up the hill, shoes soggy and uncomfortable.

The walk is long, quiet and tense but eventually they make it to a train station.

"Two tickets to Dublin," Peter demands of the old man at the booth.

"Please," Stiles says forcefully, elbowing Peter in the ribs.

The old man laughs a little. "Ten bob each ticket. Next train's in an hour."

Peter hands over his credit card. Stiles stomps out the door to sit on the wet bench by the track.

"Trouble in paradise?" The old man asks a wry grin on his face.

With a nod Peter smiles back, "the trip isn't going according to plan."

"Honeymoon?" The man hands the tickets over.

"Something like that," Peter replies as he pockets them and looks out the door at Stiles.

The man chuckles. "It just means you'll remember it better, son. You've got time. Take a look around the old castle ruins, I'll hold your bags for ye."

"Thanks." Peter hands their bags over and heads out the door to see if he can get Stiles to come up to the ruins with him. "Come on, we've got time, let's go and explore."

"I'm staying right here for the train." Stiles crosses his arms.

Peter shrugs. "It's an hour, Stiles, is sixty minutes with me going to kill you? Out of the two of us, I'm the only one that hasn't murdered the other."

"Technically Derek murdered you, I just helped." Stiles grumbles. He flings his hands in the air, "fine. Let's go." They start the walk up the hill, Peter stays close to Stiles and steadies him when he trips and stumbles, making sure that his hands don't linger.

When they reach the top, Stiles takes over leading them through to the back where they look out over Ireland. It's breathtakingly beautiful, Peter thinks then he looks over at Stiles and the view pales in comparison.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Stiles ask with a smirk.

"Indescribably so." Peter says with the utmost sincerity as he gazes at his companion. Stiles' cheeks flush pink and he drops his eyes briefly then catches Peter's gaze again.

"Peter," Stiles says softly, almost pained.

"Yes, love?" Peter turns so he's facing Stiles. He can't tamp down on the hope rising in his chest, nor does he want to. Peter watches as Stiles struggles with himself, mouth opening and closing but no words come out. Gently, Peter reaches out and brushes a hand up Stiles' arm. He aims to hold Stiles' cheek only the other man turns away and Peter lets his hand fall. "I apologize that was out of line."

He turns and makes his way deeper into the ruins. Stiles doesn't stop him but he doesn't come after Peter either. Peter sits on an old stone step and berates himself. In the distance comes the sound of the train's horn. "Fuck," he spits as he stands.

"Peter!" Stiles shouts.

Peter follows his voice and soon the two of them are rushing down the hill, they both curse as the train rushes through without stopping. Then Stiles trips and sends them both splattering into the mud. Peter holds on to him tightly as they roll, coming to a gentle stop at the bottom of the hill.

Stiles looks down on Peter. "You're bad luck Peter Hale." He sounds and looks fond. "Come on, let's see if there's somewhere we can stay for the night." He climbs off Peter and holds out his hand, hesitatingly Peter takes it and let's Stiles help him to his feet.

Perhaps they're just ignoring what happened in the castle ruins, Peter thinks as they cross the tracks. The old man is waiting for them with their bags by his feet. "I'm sorry lads, in the old days I could have held it for you."

"Don't worry about it," Stiles smiles tightly.

"I'll tell you what, as you're on your honeymoon I'll give you a bed at our B'n'B the wife runs. How's that sound?"

"Perfect," Peter says, clamping an arm tight around Stiles' shoulders to stop him from saying anything.

*

The house is quaint, it has three rooms and the couple - Aiden and Aileen - are lovely but traditional. They only rent rooms to married couples. There's an Italian couple staying already.

Aileen leads them up to their room and says she'll start on dinner.

Stiles and Peter stand shoulder to shoulder and stare at the small double bed. "Go," Peter nudges Stiles' shoulder. "Take a shower."

Raising an eyebrows Stiles asks, unimpressed, "is the part where you tell me I stink?"

"No, darling, this is the part where I remind you that I am a werewolf and you are human and thus more prone to hypothermia."

"Ah." Stiles grins sheepishly. "Right."

Peter watches him disappear into the small wet area that's blocked off only by a thin, slightly sheer shower curtain. He finds himself watching as Stiles strips off his tops but Peter turns away as he takes off his trousers.

It's not long before Stiles is coming out wrapped in a towel and Peter tries, and fails to keep his gaze from roaming. It gets caught on the ink on Stiles' shoulder and he coughs to clear his throat.

"Your turn." Stiles says hoarsely.

Peter forces himself to wink, "no peeking."

"What?" Stiles asks with a little disbelief.

As he moves into the wet area Peter replies, "the curtain is see-through." He pulls it across and stays facing Stiles as he undresses. As a werewolf Peter sees no shame in nudity, he's also self-aware enough to know he's attractive physically. It takes until Peter is down to his underwear for Stiles to turn his back. Peter tramps down on disappointment as he turns the water on and steps under the cold spray.

The sooner he can get to Dublin and reunite Stiles and Derek the better off he will be.

*

Dinner is a loud affair. The six of them are strangers outside their couples but they all get along well. Aileen cooked a lovely big roast dinner, the wine has flowed and Peter is enjoying himself.

As Aiden starts to clear the plates away he bends down and kisses his wife.

"Ah," the Italian, Stefano, says. "The truth of a lasting marriage is in the kiss. Is it not, my love?" He turns to his wife and kisses her soundly.

Peter feels Stiles shift in his seat, uncomfortable with the display. "Alright, Peter, your turn."

"I'm sorry?" Peter blinks at Aiden.

"Kiss the man," Aiden slaps his palm on the table.

Peter looks at Stiles and darts in to press a kiss to his cheek. "There."

"I'm surprised you married him at all," Aileen says to Stiles who fumbles with his drink, and takes a swallow.

Aiden catches Peter's eye. "Come on lad, I've kissed my wife, Stefano has certainly kissed is. Now it's your turn, kiss the man."

"And remember," Stefano interrupts, "it must always feel like the first kiss and the last."

Peter laughs a little. He takes Stiles' face in his hands. It's not going to be a problem, Peter thinks bitterly, this is their first and last kiss. He pressed his mouth to Stiles', tongue flicking out to swipe the taste of wine from Stiles' lips.

What surprises Peter the most is that Stiles kisses back, his scent becomes floral and his hands are soft as one holds Peter's wrist the other sliding into his hair.

As they break apart, Peter ducks back in for another kiss because after this he knows he won't get anymore and he's addicted to the taste and feel of Stiles' mouth on his tongue.

Stiles looks a little dazed and he goes to drink his wine, though his glass is drained. Peter gazes at him, handing his glass over for Stiles to take a drink. He refuses to meet anyone's eye and the conversation moves on but Peter is too caught up in Stiles to pay too much attention.

*

Peter heads up to bed, a few minutes after Stiles, he'd been checking bus timetables with Aileen because the trains don't run on Sundays.

When he gets into the room Stiles is already in the bed, rolled on his side and back facing the door. Quietly, Peter brushes his teeth and tugs off his clothes until he's in his underwear. He slides under the covers, it's warm and smells strongly of Stiles. Peter finds it comforting.

"Stiles-"

"Can you turn out the light? I'm tired." Stiles says firmly, Peter doesn't call him out on the lie. He plunges the room in darkness and rolls over so they are back to back.

Peter falls onto his back and turns his head, in the dim light he can see the tense set of Stiles' shoulders. With a sigh Peter faces the ceiling, next to him Stiles shifts onto his back and when their shoulders brush he moves again.

Looking across Peter sees Stiles staring back at him, biting his lower lip. Peter takes a deep breath taking in their combined scent and he rolls over onto his side, mirroring Stiles' position. He wants to say something, he wants to reach out and touch, he wants to kiss and hold and have.

Stiles' breathing is quicker than normal, his heart is beating fast and his scent arousal-floral mingled with bitterness.

Leaning forward Peter goes to kiss him again. Stiles meets him partway, their lips brush momentarily and Stiles jerks away from the contact rolling over onto his other side pulling the covers over his shoulders. Peter swallows and falls on to back. It takes a long time before either of them falls asleep.

*

The morning dawns pale and grey. Peter is content and curled around Stiles when he wakes up. Stiles is warm and his body turned into Peter's so much so that his head is pressed to Peter's chest Their legs are tangled and Peter buries his smile in Stiles' hair. It's a wonderful way to wake up. Peter takes a deep breath of their combined scents. It soothes his wolf. He's been away from his Pack for so long that he should be an Omega considering how on the fringes he has been. Scent has been a big anchor for Peter and Stiles' scent soothes him in a way no one else's has ever done.

Peter disentangles himself.

The only other person awake is Aiden. "Morning sonny, sleep well?"

"Well enough." Peter responds, ignoring the wink and eyebrow waggle from the old man. "Do you know what time the bus leaves?"

"Ah, Aileen said it'll be a journey to Dublin today."

Peter shrugs. "Stiles needs to go to Dublin."

"And you don't want to?"

"I'm afraid of what he'll find there." Peter answers honestly.

"Don't worry lad, he won't be swayed." Aiden sounds so confident that Peter aches to believe him.

A sound near the door makes them both turn and Stiles is there shuffling in. He's wearing Peter's top from yesterday. Peter isn't sure how much Stiles heard of his conversation with Aiden.

"Morning, love." Peter hands a cup of coffee over to Stiles giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Morning," Stiles sighs happily, a hand sliding into Peter's hair and tightening momentarily then he lets go and Peter is left feeling cold.

"I'll go and pack the bags. The bus leaves soon."

"In forty minutes." Aiden says, "or in four hours if you miss that one."

Peter nods in thanks as he leaves, brushing a hand over Stiles' shoulder as he goes.

*

They start walking down the road in silence, Peter carrying their bags. According to Aiden it's a ten minute walk to the village where the bus stop is. Peter is carrying both their bags, Stiles marching ahead of him.

There's been a tension between them that makes Peter think Stiles heard more of his conversation with Aiden than Peter thought. They've barely spoken to each other and Peter feels helpless and frustrated. The sooner he can get Stiles and Derek reunited the better off everyone will be.

In front of him Stiles flinches, he glares over his shoulder at Peter before wincing. Peter gets hit too and suddenly they're caught in a hailstorm.

"Fucking hell!" Stiles shouts and Peter runs to him using Stiles' duffel bag as a protective cover over their heads.

"In there," Peter calls. He sees an old chapel just up the road from them.

Stiles runs faster and the hail hits harder. They burst through the doors and into a wedding.

"Uh." Stiles stops.

"Apologies." Peter smiles charmingly, before tugging Stiles so they sit down on the back pew. The wedding continues, the bride looks radiant and her groom utterly besotted. He settles in his seat, letting his knee and thigh press against the length of Stiles' leg. Peter takes a small victory in the fact that Stiles doesn't move away.

The wedding is between an Irish couple, Declan and Anna. They are openly hospitable and when they find out Stiles and Peter are waiting four hours for the bus to Dublin invite them to the wedding reception.

Peter enjoys the meal and Stiles watches the couple with a sharp eye, scent tinged with longing. Peter checks his watch. "We've only got half an hour more."

"Okay," Stiles sounds genuinely disappointed.

"Come on," Peter stands and Stiles is definitely pouting.

"We've got time yet." Stiles turns his gaze away to behind Peter.

"I know, sweetheart, we're not going to the bus right now." Peter smiles charmingly, "we're going to dance."

Stiles looks unsure for a second then takes Peter's hand, letting him lead them onto the dance floor with the other couples. Peter pulls Stiles around and holds him close. "I assume by the look on your face, darling, that you want this."

"A wedding?"

Peter hums, "a marriage," he corrects.

Stiles tightens his grip briefly. "Yeah, I do."

"It's not as unreachable as you seem to think it is."

They shuffle around, Stiles' hands warm on Peter event though his clothes. "Oh I don't have anyone that would put up with me."

"No one would be putting up with you," Peter Huff's, rolling his eyes. "Not if they loved you, quirks and all."

Stiles grumbles something about how no one would love him like that. Peter closes his eyes and ignored the voice in his head saying 'I would'. He says something else instead, something stupid. "I might know of a person."

Pulling his head back sharply Stiles gazes at Peter. They stop moving and Peter, for once, let's his face show everything he can't bring himself to voice. He tried to express how he wants Stiles, loves him but Peter's never been very good at the plain truth.

"We should go." Stiles says, voice breaking a little as he pulls away, "don't want to miss the bus." He walks away leaving Peter brokenhearted on the dance floor.

*

The bus ride into Dublin.is mostly uneventful. Stiles falls asleep and his head lolls onto Peter's shoulder. Peter pretends everything is fine.

The bus rolls in to Dublin a few hours later. They get off and aim for the hotel where Derek is staying. Peter figures they'll get a room for night and see Derek in the morning. He can have one last night Stiles and that will be enough.

It has to be enough.

Only it does work the way Peter wants. Derek is in the lobby waiting for them. "Peter." He calls out, voice confident and strong then he stumbles a little when he sees Stiles step out from behind Peter. Derek's eyes widen and he smiles, "Stiles."

"Hello Derek." Stiles moves towards him and they hug, long and hard. Peter can only see Derek's face over Stiles' shoulder and it smooths out with relief and happiness. Stiles' shoulders relax and Peter knows when he's not wanted. He places Stiles' duffel bag down and takes a step back.

"I sensed you getting nearer," Derek says quietly, "though the Pack bond."

"It's so good to see you, Der." Peter can hear the smile in Stiles' voice. He leaves before it becomes to hard to do so. Not knowing what to do or where to go in this strange city Peter goes back to the bus stop and gets on the first one out the airport.

As the bus drives away, Peter feels the Pack bond linking him to Derek break. He'd never really considered his nephew to be his Alpha and now Derek has Stiles back, probably as emissary if not partner as well, Peter doesn't want anything to do with them.

*

Peter is in Beacon Hills already when Derek and Stiles come back. He hears about it all over town, in the bank, the taxis, the real estate agents and the supermarket. His control over his wolf is tested. Peter no longer has an Alpha and he's in another wolf's territory.

It takes him a week to sort everything out. He puts his apartment on the market, he transfers his bank balance from the old one to the new one. Peter isn't one hundred percent sure what he's going to do but he knows where he's going and that's enough.

He's organised for most of his things and boxes to be shipped giving himself time to find an address to sent them too. It's with one small Louis Vuitton carry on suitcase that Peter smiles at the water damage stain fondly. Peter is meeting the taxi outside the motel.

It's unfortunate that its opposite the dinner because Peter wouldn't have seen them otherwise. He glances up after his bag is placed in the boot and there in the middle of the window at a table in the diner is the Sheriff, Stiles and Derek. Derek has an arm stretched out along the back of Stiles' chair as he gesticulates and tells a story that soon has his companions laughing. Peter tries to memorise the happy look on Stiles' face but it's tempered by the knowledge that he never put a look like that there.

Peter gets into the taxi and pulls the door shut too hard. He plays on his phone not noticing the attention he has from the men inside the diner. As the taxi drives away a screeching then of a chair filters through his hearing but Peter ignores it.

The car drives away and Peter doesn't look back at Beacon Hills.

*

When Peter left he knew he was going back to Ireland, the country filled with latent magic where supernatural creatures live in harmony and the worst kept secret, not officially known but everybody knows about them. What he hadn't expected was to end up at the pub he'd found Stiles in.

The place had gone on the market not long after Peter landed in Ireland. He assumes it means Stiles isn't coming back. Peter buys it on whim. He has the money for it and for the renovations and upkeep. He also buys it to be close to Stiles in a way that settles his wolf. Stiles used a lot of his Spark to keep the building from falling to pieces and the scent of him and his magic lingers in the very fabric of the place.

Five months after Peter brought and renovated the pub he's hired an amazing chef and her wife (who runs the front of house) along with their team turning the place into gastro-hub. It brings a steady stream of foodies from around Ireland down to the ting village on the Cork coast and a wide array of tourists from around the globe.

Peter is standing in the garden taking a break from annoying tourists when he hears his chef say "you can't go back there."

"It's alright. I know the owner." Then there are footsteps and Peter's heart is beating fast, traitorous hope rising in his chest. He doesn't turn around. The footsteps stop and then there's a rapid heartbeat filling Peter's ears and a familiar, long-for scent in his nose. "Hello Peter."

Pasting on a fake smile Peter turns around, "hello. I hope you're here to try the food. Regina is a genius chef and we use only local ingredients."

"Peter," Stiles huffs fondly, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. "I'm not here for the food."

"Oh?" Peter looks around as if there is someone who will get him out of this awkward conversation. "Are you here to see the changes made?"

"I like what you've done," Stiles gestures at the building behind him. "It's what I always wanted to do with it."

"I know." Peter smiles, genuinely this time. "I found your notes in the kitchen."

Stiles takes a step toward Peter, the soft smile hasn't left his face. "Why? Why buy this place? Why do what _I_ wanted?"

At a loss for words Peter lifts his shoulders then drops them down. "I like it here. I didn't expect you come back so it hardly seemed like it mattered whether I used your ideas or not."

"Why wouldn't I come back?"

"I saw you with Derek, in Beacon Hills and this place was for sale. I made some intuitive leaps." Peter raises an eyebrow. "I really must get back."

Stiles stops him from moving with a hand on Peter's forearm. "You're wrong, you know."

"People tell me that constantly Stiles. If you'll excuse me," Peter pushes by and stalks back into the kitchen where he hides until Regina kicks him out. Peter sneaks around the side and goes for a walk along the cliffs.

Of course Stiles finds him there.

"I went back to Beacon Hills because it had been to long, I was keeping myself away for stupid reasons. It was good to see my dad again, in person not through a screen. I put this place up for sale because I couldn't afford the upkeep." Stiles grins a little self-deprecatingly. He stays where he is, and Peter finds himself closing the distance between them. They're close enough now that he can reach out and touch Stiles, but he doesn't. "I'm not with Derek. I never got back with him, we talked and cleared the air. He told me he loved me and I told him I still love someone else." 

Peter swallows. "I hope you're happy."

"I will be, if he stops being deliberately obtuse." Stiles gives him a look filled with displeasure. "you see, I used his nephew as a very poor substitute and it fucked up a lot of relationships. I ran far away, then one day he saunters into my pub and demands I take him Dublin. Along the way there were a series of mishaps, a couple of tremendous kisses and one inevitable conclusion. I fell in love with him again. We got to Dublin and he disappeared, I went all the way back to America only to find that he'd fucked off, broken his Pack bonds and left. Months go by and I stumble across an article about my old pub in Ireland, now it's a hot foodie and tourist destination and there was a picture of new owner." Stiles steps in closer, their chests brush as they breathe. "What else could I do but come three thousand miles back you, Peter?"

"Sweetheart," Peter murmurs, a hand coming up to cup Stiles' cheek.

Stiles closes his eyes. "Please, Peter."

Carefully, hardly believing his luck Peter leans in and presses their lips together. Stiles sighs against his mouth before kissing Peter back just as gently. Peter breaks the kiss to press his lips to Stiles' cheek, his nose, his closed eyes. "Darling."

"You don't know what it does to me when you call me that." Stiles whispers, eyes blinking open. "It makes me feel like yours." 

"You are, sweetheart." Peter kisses him again. "Darling, you are mine. If you want to be."

Stiles kisses Peter fiercely. "I want to be, until death do us part." Pulling away Stiles drops to his knees and digs into his pocket. "I'm serious, Peter. I want to marry you." He holds out a ring, it's gold and Peter doesn't see much of the detail because Stiles is shaking.

"This is crazy." Peter smirks, holding his left hand out, "yes."

Sliding the ring on Stiles' grin is infectious and Peter kneels as well, lips stretched in a wide grin. He tugs Stiles into a tight hug. "I love you."

"Yeah you do," Stiles laughs wetly in his ear. "I love you."

They kiss again, and Stiles holds Peter's face in his hands. "Have you got an alpha out here? I know you broke the Pack bond to Derek."

"It was hardly breaking it, love. There was barely one to begin with. Derek never really wanted me in his Pack. I didn't have an Alpha at first, I survived because of the magic in the land and the residue of your Spark in the building." Peter presses his lips to Stiles' cheek.

"And now?"

"Now I have you, I don't need an Alpha Stiles when I have such a strong anchor." Peter preens a little, "I am a born wolf with impeccable control. I don't need an Alpha." 

Stiles beams. "You just need me."

"I love you, Stiles, I don't need you but I want you." Peter closes his eyes and rests their foreheads together. "God knows I've wanted you for so long."

"And I chose Derek." Stiles' scent sours with guilt.

"Sweetheart, you were sixteen when we met and I was temporarily without all my faculties. I don't blame you for choosing him." Peter strokes Stiles' cheek until the other man is looking at him. "We're here now, love. That's what matters."

"That's all that matters." Stiles agrees before kissing Peter again. Peter kisses him back feeling happy and whole and for the first time in a long time he's not going to live day by day, Peter excited for what his future with Stiles holds.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr](https://cathcer1984.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Faoladh is the Irish term for werewolf, it means protector and guardian rather than the stereotypical 'monster' than the American commentary on werewolves.


End file.
